


Nightcap

by LadyKenz347



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Merp, idk - Freeform, rain kiss lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22805848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/pseuds/LadyKenz347
Summary: I know you're getting sick of me lol but I am racking up points for Love Fest in Fairest of the Rare and I can not be deterred. Please don't leave me just because I'm an annoying ding in your inbox. I love you.For my lovely In Dreams, who prompted Theo/Oliver.Unbeta'd... and probably not that good lol.#TeamEros #LF2020
Relationships: Theodore Nott/Oliver Wood
Comments: 16
Kudos: 26
Collections: Love Fest 2020





	Nightcap

**Author's Note:**

  * For [In_Dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_Dreams/gifts).



> I know you're getting sick of me lol but I am racking up points for Love Fest in Fairest of the Rare and I can not be deterred. Please don't leave me just because I'm an annoying ding in your inbox. I love you. 
> 
> For my lovely In Dreams, who prompted Theo/Oliver. 
> 
> Unbeta'd... and probably not that good lol. 
> 
> #TeamEros #LF2020

“Mr. Wood?”

Oliver’s shoulders stiffened. It’d be hard not to recognize _that_ voice. He’s in every press line. The first to arrive; the last to leave. He asks the most inane and infuriating questions about his personal life and if he’s disappointed they lost a Quidditch match—as if anyone would be bloody pleased about it. It’s the voice of Theo Nott, journalist of the Sports and Games column of the _Daily Prophet._

Turning over his shoulder, Oliver manages a tight smile, tipping the lip of his firewhisky in Theo’s direction before returning to scowl at the smooth wood bar top.

“Do you have a moment, Mr. Wood? It’s for the _Prop—_ “

Groaning, Oliver cuts off the reporter’s question, dragging a tired, calloused hand over his face. “I know, I know… for the _Prophet._ Aren’t you getting tired of writing the same bullshite?" He's being ruder than he normally is, but fuck it all, he's tired. _And they lost._ "Surely, a washed-up Quidditch player can’t be that interesting.” With a snort, he finishes the rest of his firewhisky and tosses some galleons on the bar. “I’ll summarize for you, Mr. Nott. Yes, I’m disappointed we lost. Yes, I think we’ll have a better chance against Chudley if we tighten up our defense, and no, I don’t have any further comments.”

Shrugging on his coat, Oliver dipped his chin once in a vague nod at politeness, and then made for the door. Truth was, he barely remembered the bloke from school, if at all, and thus his only interaction was with his relentless questioning that seemed never-bloody-ending.

Outside, each cloud looked precariously close to bursting on his head at any moment and with a long-suffering sort of sigh, he turned for the apparition point.

Absently he noted the door opening and shutting once again, but it wasn’t until a shouted, _“WOOD!”_ ripped through the night air that Oliver paid it any mind at all. He nearly sagged with frustration when he turned and found it to be that same bloody reporter— _again_.

“Merlin,” Oliver said, a laugh chasing out as he turned to regard the man stomping towards him. “You’re tenacious. Has anyone ever told you that?”

With an exaggerated huff, Nott arrived. He stopped when his shoes were nearly toe to toe with Oli’s boots, eyes dancing with what looked like frustration and his cheeks flush even in the dim yellow light of the street. “You’re a git. Has everyone ever told you that? Not to mention you’re cranky and kind of a dick.”

“Oh, is that all? Thanks for that.” Oliver made to turn on his heel but Theo’s voice halted him midstep.

“You’re also not very clever! Did you ever think I might not be tracking you down for your inspired quotes? You’re not exactly the most loquacious wizard I’ve ever interviewed, you know.”

With a loud groan, Oli ran his fingers through his now damp hair, pushing it away from his forehead as he regarded the man across from him. He was taller than Oli remembered, but then, he was much younger then. Now Nott must be nearing mid-twenties, if his math were correct, and while far more handsome, he was a right pain in his arse.

“Well, don’t tell me it’s my stunning good looks and insatiable charm that keep you coming back. Is there something specific you want, mate?”

Nott swallowed hard once; then he took another step forward. “What if it _is_ your good looks and charm that keeps me coming back. What then?”

Something akin to panic thrashed under his skin and the space between Oliver’s brows creased. “Wh- _what?”_

“You heard me.” A slow smirk tugged at the side of Nott’s lips and he took a final forward. He was now so close that even in the barely-there light, Oliver could see the stubble covering his jaw and the way his eyes wrinkled when he smiled. “What if I have completely unprofessional and potentially nefarious intentions with you?”

Years of self-doubt thrashed in his chest and for a flicker of a moment, he was sure Theo Nott was taking the piss. But with a slow roll of his eyes, that persistent little Slytherin gripped ahold of Oliver’s cloak and dragged him forward.

Perhaps, Oliver should have some kind of self-preservation, but it was lost to the wind as Theo’s lips slanted over his. The kisses he could claim were fevered and demanding, the breaking of a dam that had kept him at bay for so long—but not this one. Theo moved deliberately, paying dutiful attention to each of Oliver’s lips, peppering kisses to the sides of his mouth and then again in the middle before darting this tongue out to taste the firewhisky still lingering on his tongue.

It took a scant moment, but Oliver was soon lost to the romance of being snogged in the dreary London mist with a handsome man pressing against him. He was a man possessed as his hands found Nott’s hips, fingers curling around the sharp bone.

When their lips parted, they shared panted breaths, a smile working its way onto Theo’s lips.

The ever-present anxiety pressed in on Oliver’s throat and he barely managed a single swallow. “So, what now?” he said lamely, wincing at his own dull awkwardness.

But the air was quickly filled with a bark of laughter and Theo stepped back, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. “Let’s go get a drink. One where I don’t have to pretend I give a shite about your shitty Quidditch match and see where it goes.”

Oliver’s tongue darted out to wet his lips and he could taste Theo there still. “Okay.”

“Brilliant. After you… “ Stepping back, Theo’s brow arched and he gestured for the door they’d just come from but Oliver didn’t move.

“I have firewhisky at my flat.” The words tumbled past his lips and into the air between them and while Oli’s eyes nearly bugged from his head at the confession, Theo’s smirk only widened.

“Well, I guess it’s a nightcap at yours then.” With a wink, Theo brushed past him towards the corner. When Oliver still hadn’t moved, apparently now rooted to the sidewalk, the other wizard turned, jerking his chin up. “You coming? I’ll have a hell of a time getting into your flat without you.”

It appeared he was Theodore-bleeding-Nott over for a nightcap. A strange, almost unfamiliar, laugh bubbled from deep in Oliver’s belly and he shook his damp hair loose as he made his way to the Apparition point, the ever-present pain in his arse at his side.


End file.
